Paul (first name changed) often shares his story with his customers. Sitting in the back of his taxi on the roads in the north of the Paris region, the strangers who climb in nod their heads, widen their eyes, ask him questions, or cast him a disbelieving glance in the rear-view mirror. The story begins like a suburban fairy tale: Paul was 18 and lived in the town of Sannois. He was on vacation on the western coast when friends of friends introduced him to Séverine (first name changed). She had just arrived from Paris and was also 18. One evening, they went to a club. The air was filled with the excitement and thrills of first romances. As "Hotel California" played, Paul invited Séverine to slow dance. They kissed. "It was my first kiss; I was as awkward as could be," he said. Paul was 18 and the night ahead was his only focus: "That night, I wasn't looking for the mother of my children, you know!"

They both returned home to the Paris region. She had just passed her baccalaureate and was studying law; he had failed his professional degree in hotel and restaurant management and was working as a waiter in a restaurant in Enghien-les-Bains. They moved together to Us, in the Vexin region, and got married at 25. One child came along, followed by a second.

Then, another man entered the picture. Séverine met him at the bank where she worked, and she quickly told Paul about him. He knew his wife well and realized that she was in love. "I had two options," said the driver. "Either I insulted her, made her feel guilty, and accused her of breaking up our family; or I could accept it, and help her to leave. I chose the latter. She had to make a life for herself, and we decided I would make things easier for her."

Together, they sold the family home, and, together, they bought an apartment closer to Séverine's new partner, to save her from long commutes. Together, they organized how they would cohabit: On Mondays and Tuesdays, she slept at her lover's, and the rest of the week with Paul. "In the same sofa bed, because there was no room anywhere else," he explained. For several years – four, five, he wasn't sure anymore – they lived like this. They even drew up a contract for their situation in 2014 with a divorce agreement stating that if they could no longer cohabit, it would be the parents, not the children, who would alternate staying at the family home.

Strange in-between

"Customers like this story," said Paul. Especially the female customers. Perhaps because it casts him in a favorable light: the generous, modern man, not possessive, and above all, committed to his ex-wife's freedom. However, Paul was aware of his own interest in this strange in-between situation. "Maybe it suited me that she left because we argued a lot. Maybe still living together suited me because of my low self-esteem," said the driver, now 52, with disarming lucidity. "It spared me from having to think about what to do next." He walked while talking, paused to think, and stopped in front of the Histoire d'Or store in the mall where he came to do his shopping, a giant bouquet of flowers behind him.

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